Log: V'delin Visits
Who: P'draig, V'delin
When: 4/26/17
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, Fort Weyr
What: V'delin seeks out the Weyrlingmaster to talk about recent events involving Weyrlings and Imirath. Possible solutions are discussed and a little bit of the past re-visited.
The time has been adequately selected so that most of the two common divisions of weyrlings are out and about, under the tutelage of other members of the Weyrlingmaster's team, and their leader not among them. The arrival of V'delin is not heralded by Imirath, nor has a request been made, so the stance of the man outside the Weyrlingmaster's familiar threshold is a little more akimbo, a little less certain - in fact, just the same as they've been every other time he's approached this man in this room. Perhaps before unsteady steps can carry him away, the bronzerider finds himself extending a knock, calling a soft, "Hullo? P'draig?"
The door itself is left, as usual mostly ajar though it's not wide open just now. P'draig sits inside, with some paperwork in front of him, presumably his occupation for the hour, but the Weyrlingmaster seems lost in thought, leaning back in his chair, back of his head resting in the cradle of his hands, eyes lost somewhere in contemplation of the ceiling. His focus sharpens and drops to the door at the sound of that voice and increases ten-fold as he recognizes his visitor. "V'delin." Pause. "Come in," Paddy invites, rousing himself out of the chair and standing to greet the bronzerider.
Ven pokes his head in a little more, tentative steps conveying on this chamber some sense of mysticism otherwise not accorded to the brownrider within. "Thanks. I - er, are you busy?" His voice gains in confidence as he notes the room devoid of other occupants, and he steps in as invited. "I wanted to meet with you. I thought I should meet with you." He purses his lips, tries again. "About the weyrlings. Is this a good time?"
"I'm supposed to be, but I'm not right this second. Got a lot on my mind," P'draig says with a little wry quirk of his mouth and he gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. "Shut the door then? Have a seat?" There's a little pause as he steps away from the desk. "Drink?" Chin indicating the liquor bottles up on their shelf. "Mm. If you hadn't come yourself I was going to come look for you. We should talk."
The chairs, yes. V'delin uses the moment of closing the door to steady himself and approach, conscious of the ridiculousness of his nervousness, which makes it only the more exaggerated. Sliding into a seat, he clasps his hands, gaze following the chin-indicated direction. "Yes, please." The general raggedness of his appearance indicates he's either found solace there a great deal recently, or not at all. "Figured you might." He sits up straighter, considering whether the invite was self-serve, or if he should wait.
P'draig reaches up for one of the bottles. "Whiskey?" P'draig follows up, looking over his shoulder at the bronzerider and then nods. "Yeah. Kind of have to," Paddy says with a slight heaviness to his tone as his hand curls around a short, squat glass. "Want to go first?" he offers with a wry grin.
A short nod affirms the drink, and a quick grin that fades rapidly at the noted heaviness of P'draig's next tone. His fingers curl a little around the chair's armrest, evidence of a little tension. He looks toward the desk again, eyes not focusing on the Weyrlingmaster at the shelf, and emits a brief sigh. "I suppose I ought. Came here to. Anyway." Restless fingers uncurl and tap tap along the armrest, which provides comfort in the familiar action. "There's been a few incidents. Got no other word for 'em, I suppose. In which I was involved, or Imirath. Not sure how things went with him - he tells the parts he thinks are relevant. But for my part I didn't mean to cause any harm."
The splash of liquor into glass sounds while V'delin is tensing his hand around the armrest. P'draig turns over another glass and fills this one too, recaps the bottle and sets it back in place. The glasses are lifted in a hand apiece, one offered to the bronzerider as the Weyrlingmaster drops, not into the chair behind the desk, but the other one in front of it, beside the other man. "Mm. Heard," Paddy says simply and has a healthy swig from his glass. "Zerith's doing better. That kind of thing happens anyway. Young dragonets too eager. It's what happened in the pens I'm most worried about." Pause. "I know you didn't Ven, but -- hm. More than one y'know. And they could've gotten really hurt by that charging beast."
The sounding splash seems to provide a fortitude to which Ven clings, and when the glass is offered, he takes it up, fingers curling around it with an affection borne of constant comfort. He doesn't drink right away, just holds the glass, smelling the liquor, more intent on the conversation than on the alcohol's consumption. "I saw her, in the Infirmary, stretching. Zerith. She seemed improving and in good spirits." He scratches his head, shakes it again. "Imirath always hunts that way - he prefers to run down his meal outside of the pens. I'd never encountered a problem, but I didn't expect the beast to charge the kids, or the dragons to be so fraught."
More liquor down the hatch for Paddy. "Yeah. Beasts can be pretty unpredictable when there's a lot of dragons around," he says lightly and squints into the glass then looks up at V'delin thoughtfully. "You know he's kind of an exception though, yeah? Most just chase within the feeding grounds. From what I can gather from the Weyrlings, it was more what he was broadcasting, what he was telling them that scared some of them. How much he relished the beast's fear." Pause. "Not every dragon is like that. My concern with hiim sharing that with dragonets so young, is that it could put some of them off their feed or the hunt, entirely, which I've had some issues with before."
V'delin nods, finally taking a sip from the glass, which is savored a long moment before he swallows. "I know letting one out's not regular procedure, and is a little frowned upon. But sometimes he just won't eat unless he feels the thrill in an 'actual chase,' and I figure one in the bowl's better than him storming some holder's herds. He says it keeps him sharp, now that there's less Thread falling, and I can't argue that." He swirls the liquid, watching it cloud and clear. "He says the girl, Tiasheth, asked what it was like, and he said he's show her, and then did. I don't doubt he overwhelmed her - you know what his mind is like? - but I can't discern if it was genuine joy for the hunt or if he was bullying."
Patient listening on Paddy's side of things means mostly silence and drinking. "I remember what he's like," P'draig says quietly and clears his throat. "I know that a lot of this is basically, between rider and dragon. But Ven, I'd appreciate it if the next time there's Weyrlings around when Imirath's about to feed, warn them off. Also, if it's possible, make sure that what he's about to share with young minds like that is at the right level. And if it's not, get him to tone it down. If he's not able to do that, then it might be better to ... well, keep a little distance from them until they're a little older."
V'delin takes another drink, swishing the liquid audibly before gulping it down. "Sometimes his content's perfectly suitable, and other times, he just pushes as though he wants them to be grown up, to share what he experiences, way too soon." Another sip, this time a steady gaze P'draig's way, one shoulder shrugging helplessly. "I don't have the experience you do, working this job or doing anything like leading, teaching, or mentoring at all. How do you know what they're ready for?"
"Mm. That's what I'm kind of getting at though, Ven. If you can't tell, if you can't balance him, then it's better to try to minimize contact. They're still sticking to the Bowl, the Barracks and the closer in places right now, so it shouldn't be too hard. When they're big enough to fly around by themselves, they should be old enough to handle what he shares with them." His hands turn his glass to and fro and he puffs out a long breath of air. "It's partly experience, partly just remember what Jek could and couldn't deal with," Paddy says slowly, looking up at the bronzerider. "Right now it's hands down just knowing that they're under a half turn old and they're still pretty sensitive. Later on it's a sense, from getting to know them and their riders."
V'delin's expression grows a little less soft and the lines of his mouth a little more hard. "That seems a little harsh, just to stay away? I understand you could be recommending something much less friendly, on up the chain, if I or Imirath make problems for them, but..." He scratches at his hand, watching the nails raise short lines that fade, "figure, if your friend had a baby, and you didn't know how to hold or tend it, and you asked how, would you want to hear you just don't touch it and just stay away? I mean, this is your job, and you work with all kinds of inexperienced staff on your team. How do you tell them how to know?"
"I just told you what I tell the assistants. It's not something concrete that you can learn by rote," P'draig explains calmly. "And it's not even so much about you. It's about Imirath and whether or not he'll listen to you and take your guidance." He takes another sip from his glass. "And there are definitely people I wouldn't have left Palia with when she was a baby, because they didn't know how to handle an infant. It takes a lot of little steps to learn how to deal with a baby." He takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair, tips a look up at the ceiling. "In general, a lot of it is just plain holding back until you do know what a dragonet can handle and they're all different, have differen thresholds, though before that half-turn mark they're all much more sensitive." Beat. "Remember it, Ven? Those early days?"
Any hope Ven has of understanding is a little more dashed at the notation that it's also about Imirath accepting his guidance. "I can encourage him, that's about all. He just...really likes to talk to them, finds them fascinating, wants to share the world, I guess." A shrug, still one-shouldered, and he drinks for a while in consideration of P'draig's words. "It was all a jumble. Trying to get Imirath to obey, or to tell me from him. That's really all I remember. And Sal'ros." A laugh and a shake of his head. "If Imirath kept it up, you wouldn't recommend I be sent back on watch duty on the outers, would you? I got this idea some of them might be planning to try it, as retribution."
"They are fascinating, very interesting. But there's lines he can't cross. Think about what it would have been like if a dragon like Imirath had been in his head back then, egging him on, undoing a lot of the hard work you did with him to get him to listen," P'draig says quietly. His face twists into a grimace of mixed emotions at mention of Sal'ros, but he shakes his head. "No Ven, I'm not looking to punish you, or get you in trouble with the Weyrleaders. I'm just asking you to try to keep a tighter rein on Imirath around the Weyrlings for another two months or so until they're a little steadier, a little more solid with their Weyrlings." His glass lifts again and he takes another big swallow. "Just think what might've happened if he'd been egging Zerith on about Between instead of plain old flight." He leaves that out there as something to think about then looks down into his glass again. "I didn't do that great of a job with your class. I barely knew what I was doing back then. How to handle Sal'ros." His eyes lift to the bronzerider's a shadow of guilt in them. "He ate up a lot of my time and took my focus off the rest of you."
V'delin listens to Paddy's words, really listens with his brows crinkled and his jaw set, imagining the effects, a few emotions playing over his face. "I wouldn't want that, for Zerith or any of them. Guess I didn't think like that, that he's not strengthening their bonds, but prying at them. Faranth knows it was a struggle for me - sometimes I still think Imirath has the upper hand and only pretends to go along with what I say." This admission comes quietly, one for one as P'draig speaks of his weyrling class, and Ven watches the liquid in his glass, then meets Paddy's eyes, surprised to see the guilt and trying to offer absolution. "That wasn't an easy task. For you or anyone." He shakes his head to clear the air. "And we turned out okay. I think."
V'delin listens to Paddy's words, really listens with his brows crinkled and his jaw set, imagining the effects, a few emotions playing over his face. "I wouldn't want that, for Zerith or any of them. Guess I didn't think like that, that he's not strengthening their bonds, but prying at them. Faranth knows it was a struggle for me - sometimes I still think Imirath has the upper hand and only pretends to go along with what I say." This admission comes quietly, one for one as P'draig speaks of his weyrling class, and Ven watches the liquid in his glass, then meets Paddy's eyes, surprised to see the guilt and trying to offer absolution. "That wasn't an easy task. For you or anyone." He shakes his head to clear the air. "And we turned out okay. I think."
P'draig nods a little as he catches that glint of catching on with the other rider. "Mm. A couple of them are having the same kind of struggle. Maybe not quite as -- extreme as what you had to go through with Imirath, but there's at least three very stubborn dragonets in this clutch. Z'enar and Falstath probably come closest to how you and Imirath were. Falstath's got a similar ah ... dark bent," Paddy puts the sentence together out of bits and bobs and nods at what V'delin's saying. "I guess that's what I mean though. About him having the upper hand like that. It's something we should've dealt with together when you were Weyrlings." There goes the last of Paddy's liquor and he scrubs a hand through his hair. "Most of you did, yeah." Beat. "But not him." There's a quiet note of resignation in the Weyrlingmaster's voice for the Weyrling that he 'failed' with.
V'delin's cheek twitches on one side, then a slow nod, even a little bit of a smirk at the word choice P'draig finally settles on to describe the other weyrling pair. "Not your fault. Can't control how people grow up, and Sal'ros was already bucking the reins even before he Impressed. Then he got in with Draila, and she wasn't quite alltogether then either." A roll of the eyes, deliberate. "You gave good advice when I was struggling, and I think Imirath and I work very well together as a team when we need to - he's observant, detail-oriented, and he encourages my independence, like not hopping a ride across the bowl just because I say I want one - so I don't see that as a problem, even if I complain about it." He takes another drink, wipes his hand across his mouth, "Just things like when he tells me only half the story. Any advice for that, even now?"
"Both of them were a little ... off," P'draig says slowly and he gets up, moves towards the shelves to take down the bottle of whiskey, refill his glass. "If you felt like it was good advice, then I don't think I can really ask for better than that," the Weyrlingmaster says with a grin over his shoulders and he returns to the chair with the bottle in hand. "Mm. It's what I've been trying to tell some of this batch. No matter how hard it is, you're good partners for each other." Paddy considers for a moment. "Getting the whole story from him? With Imirath? Probably need to be clever rather than persuasive, yeah?"
Ven is reminded of his own drink, and for once, hasn't managed to empty his glass before the Weyrlingmaster's done in his own. As a result, he doesn't hold up an empty for a refill, but instead takes another drink, one that even leaves whiskey behind in his glass. "Not to say there aren't days I'd rather do without, but for the most part, yeah. And he lets me pursue my interests, too, instead of nagging at me." Shrug, then a flash of a crafty expression. "How'd I go about that, exactly? Or you saying that'd be my own to figure out?"
The bottle gets set down on the edge of the desk as P'draig nurses the contents of the glass once more. Slowly the Weyrlingmaster smiles over at the bronzerider, a twinkle entering gray-blue eyes. "I'm saying you've gotta figure it out," he confirms. "It's part of why the two of you go so well together, isn't it?"
"Shards," Swears the bronzerider, a bit of his own bemusement shining up his smirk. "That's setting the bar awfully high." Not saying yes, not saying no, just talking tactics, after all. Finishing his drink, he sets the cup down on the desk, but makes no move for a refill, instead noting and appreciating by the tilt of his head the Weyrlingmaster's non-adversarial positioning in the chair next to his, rather than that on the opposite side of the desk, and giving the man a nod of appreciation, belatedly, for it. "Gotten more easy with the knot, over the turns, you have. Don't know how you do it. Probably never will." He rises, stretching his stiff shoulder, and adds, "I'll ask Imirath to include me or someone else in his communications with the weyrlings. Can't say he'll always do it, but could help to keep an ear in. You hear of more trouble with him, tell me so I can stop it escalating. Meanwhile, I'll keep him from the hunt when they're around."
Another sip of whiskey slides down P'draig's throat and he laughs at V'delin's response. "Saying you're not up for it?" he challenges the bronzerider with a wink. Ease with the knot draws his eyes down to said set of looped cords around his shoulder and he shrugs lightly, shifting the brown and black of Fort. "Ten turns is a long enough time to get used to just about anything," Paddy answers quietly. "It's become a big part of who I am. The Weyrlingmaster." There's a hint of wrynes in his expression and he sets his glass down as V'delin rises, offers his hand to the other man. "Thanks, Ven, I appreciate it."
"Saying it'll take me turns to figure out how to keep anything hidden from him." V'delin rolls his eyes, then tugs down his shirt, giving his own appearance a quick and somewhat disgusted once-over. "You sound...disenchanted. Thinking of forging a new identity?" The words are quieter, more friendly, as he clasps P'draig's hand.
P'draig closes his fingers firmly around V'delin's and holds briefly. "Working on it," the Weyrlingmaster answers with a loose grin for the other man. "And not so much disenchanted as realizing how much it's come to define me. I suppose that just ... happens when you step into something so young." His grasp loosens and he gestures for the bronzerider to precede him to the door. "I'll walk you out," he states, as friendly. "Should play cards again sometime soon too, now they're sleeping a bit more." A chin jerk towards the Barracks proper indicates the Weyrlings.
"Yeah." V'delin looks at the office, the turns of molding it's likely had on the brownrider, and his handclasp is even and strong before he drops the grip and turns toward the door, no further comment added there. "Should, at that. Spend some time away now and then. You feel up to cards, let me know. I'm near always game." He opens the door, steps out, tossing a 'thanks' over his shoulder before he heads off, steps much more jaunty than those that brought him here.
"Yeah," echoes P'draig and accompanies his guest to the door. "Will do," he says simply, one hand lifted in farewell as he watches V'delin go then leans in the doorframe to look out over the current crop of Weyrlings peacably.
When: 4/26/17
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, Fort Weyr
What: V'delin seeks out the Weyrlingmaster to talk about recent events involving Weyrlings and Imirath. Possible solutions are discussed and a little bit of the past re-visited.
The time has been adequately selected so that most of the two common divisions of weyrlings are out and about, under the tutelage of other members of the Weyrlingmaster's team, and their leader not among them. The arrival of V'delin is not heralded by Imirath, nor has a request been made, so the stance of the man outside the Weyrlingmaster's familiar threshold is a little more akimbo, a little less certain - in fact, just the same as they've been every other time he's approached this man in this room. Perhaps before unsteady steps can carry him away, the bronzerider finds himself extending a knock, calling a soft, "Hullo? P'draig?"
The door itself is left, as usual mostly ajar though it's not wide open just now. P'draig sits inside, with some paperwork in front of him, presumably his occupation for the hour, but the Weyrlingmaster seems lost in thought, leaning back in his chair, back of his head resting in the cradle of his hands, eyes lost somewhere in contemplation of the ceiling. His focus sharpens and drops to the door at the sound of that voice and increases ten-fold as he recognizes his visitor. "V'delin." Pause. "Come in," Paddy invites, rousing himself out of the chair and standing to greet the bronzerider.
Ven pokes his head in a little more, tentative steps conveying on this chamber some sense of mysticism otherwise not accorded to the brownrider within. "Thanks. I - er, are you busy?" His voice gains in confidence as he notes the room devoid of other occupants, and he steps in as invited. "I wanted to meet with you. I thought I should meet with you." He purses his lips, tries again. "About the weyrlings. Is this a good time?"
"I'm supposed to be, but I'm not right this second. Got a lot on my mind," P'draig says with a little wry quirk of his mouth and he gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. "Shut the door then? Have a seat?" There's a little pause as he steps away from the desk. "Drink?" Chin indicating the liquor bottles up on their shelf. "Mm. If you hadn't come yourself I was going to come look for you. We should talk."
The chairs, yes. V'delin uses the moment of closing the door to steady himself and approach, conscious of the ridiculousness of his nervousness, which makes it only the more exaggerated. Sliding into a seat, he clasps his hands, gaze following the chin-indicated direction. "Yes, please." The general raggedness of his appearance indicates he's either found solace there a great deal recently, or not at all. "Figured you might." He sits up straighter, considering whether the invite was self-serve, or if he should wait.
P'draig reaches up for one of the bottles. "Whiskey?" P'draig follows up, looking over his shoulder at the bronzerider and then nods. "Yeah. Kind of have to," Paddy says with a slight heaviness to his tone as his hand curls around a short, squat glass. "Want to go first?" he offers with a wry grin.
A short nod affirms the drink, and a quick grin that fades rapidly at the noted heaviness of P'draig's next tone. His fingers curl a little around the chair's armrest, evidence of a little tension. He looks toward the desk again, eyes not focusing on the Weyrlingmaster at the shelf, and emits a brief sigh. "I suppose I ought. Came here to. Anyway." Restless fingers uncurl and tap tap along the armrest, which provides comfort in the familiar action. "There's been a few incidents. Got no other word for 'em, I suppose. In which I was involved, or Imirath. Not sure how things went with him - he tells the parts he thinks are relevant. But for my part I didn't mean to cause any harm."
The splash of liquor into glass sounds while V'delin is tensing his hand around the armrest. P'draig turns over another glass and fills this one too, recaps the bottle and sets it back in place. The glasses are lifted in a hand apiece, one offered to the bronzerider as the Weyrlingmaster drops, not into the chair behind the desk, but the other one in front of it, beside the other man. "Mm. Heard," Paddy says simply and has a healthy swig from his glass. "Zerith's doing better. That kind of thing happens anyway. Young dragonets too eager. It's what happened in the pens I'm most worried about." Pause. "I know you didn't Ven, but -- hm. More than one y'know. And they could've gotten really hurt by that charging beast."
The sounding splash seems to provide a fortitude to which Ven clings, and when the glass is offered, he takes it up, fingers curling around it with an affection borne of constant comfort. He doesn't drink right away, just holds the glass, smelling the liquor, more intent on the conversation than on the alcohol's consumption. "I saw her, in the Infirmary, stretching. Zerith. She seemed improving and in good spirits." He scratches his head, shakes it again. "Imirath always hunts that way - he prefers to run down his meal outside of the pens. I'd never encountered a problem, but I didn't expect the beast to charge the kids, or the dragons to be so fraught."
More liquor down the hatch for Paddy. "Yeah. Beasts can be pretty unpredictable when there's a lot of dragons around," he says lightly and squints into the glass then looks up at V'delin thoughtfully. "You know he's kind of an exception though, yeah? Most just chase within the feeding grounds. From what I can gather from the Weyrlings, it was more what he was broadcasting, what he was telling them that scared some of them. How much he relished the beast's fear." Pause. "Not every dragon is like that. My concern with hiim sharing that with dragonets so young, is that it could put some of them off their feed or the hunt, entirely, which I've had some issues with before."
V'delin nods, finally taking a sip from the glass, which is savored a long moment before he swallows. "I know letting one out's not regular procedure, and is a little frowned upon. But sometimes he just won't eat unless he feels the thrill in an 'actual chase,' and I figure one in the bowl's better than him storming some holder's herds. He says it keeps him sharp, now that there's less Thread falling, and I can't argue that." He swirls the liquid, watching it cloud and clear. "He says the girl, Tiasheth, asked what it was like, and he said he's show her, and then did. I don't doubt he overwhelmed her - you know what his mind is like? - but I can't discern if it was genuine joy for the hunt or if he was bullying."
Patient listening on Paddy's side of things means mostly silence and drinking. "I remember what he's like," P'draig says quietly and clears his throat. "I know that a lot of this is basically, between rider and dragon. But Ven, I'd appreciate it if the next time there's Weyrlings around when Imirath's about to feed, warn them off. Also, if it's possible, make sure that what he's about to share with young minds like that is at the right level. And if it's not, get him to tone it down. If he's not able to do that, then it might be better to ... well, keep a little distance from them until they're a little older."
V'delin takes another drink, swishing the liquid audibly before gulping it down. "Sometimes his content's perfectly suitable, and other times, he just pushes as though he wants them to be grown up, to share what he experiences, way too soon." Another sip, this time a steady gaze P'draig's way, one shoulder shrugging helplessly. "I don't have the experience you do, working this job or doing anything like leading, teaching, or mentoring at all. How do you know what they're ready for?"
"Mm. That's what I'm kind of getting at though, Ven. If you can't tell, if you can't balance him, then it's better to try to minimize contact. They're still sticking to the Bowl, the Barracks and the closer in places right now, so it shouldn't be too hard. When they're big enough to fly around by themselves, they should be old enough to handle what he shares with them." His hands turn his glass to and fro and he puffs out a long breath of air. "It's partly experience, partly just remember what Jek could and couldn't deal with," Paddy says slowly, looking up at the bronzerider. "Right now it's hands down just knowing that they're under a half turn old and they're still pretty sensitive. Later on it's a sense, from getting to know them and their riders."
V'delin's expression grows a little less soft and the lines of his mouth a little more hard. "That seems a little harsh, just to stay away? I understand you could be recommending something much less friendly, on up the chain, if I or Imirath make problems for them, but..." He scratches at his hand, watching the nails raise short lines that fade, "figure, if your friend had a baby, and you didn't know how to hold or tend it, and you asked how, would you want to hear you just don't touch it and just stay away? I mean, this is your job, and you work with all kinds of inexperienced staff on your team. How do you tell them how to know?"
"I just told you what I tell the assistants. It's not something concrete that you can learn by rote," P'draig explains calmly. "And it's not even so much about you. It's about Imirath and whether or not he'll listen to you and take your guidance." He takes another sip from his glass. "And there are definitely people I wouldn't have left Palia with when she was a baby, because they didn't know how to handle an infant. It takes a lot of little steps to learn how to deal with a baby." He takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair, tips a look up at the ceiling. "In general, a lot of it is just plain holding back until you do know what a dragonet can handle and they're all different, have differen thresholds, though before that half-turn mark they're all much more sensitive." Beat. "Remember it, Ven? Those early days?"
Any hope Ven has of understanding is a little more dashed at the notation that it's also about Imirath accepting his guidance. "I can encourage him, that's about all. He just...really likes to talk to them, finds them fascinating, wants to share the world, I guess." A shrug, still one-shouldered, and he drinks for a while in consideration of P'draig's words. "It was all a jumble. Trying to get Imirath to obey, or to tell me from him. That's really all I remember. And Sal'ros." A laugh and a shake of his head. "If Imirath kept it up, you wouldn't recommend I be sent back on watch duty on the outers, would you? I got this idea some of them might be planning to try it, as retribution."
"They are fascinating, very interesting. But there's lines he can't cross. Think about what it would have been like if a dragon like Imirath had been in his head back then, egging him on, undoing a lot of the hard work you did with him to get him to listen," P'draig says quietly. His face twists into a grimace of mixed emotions at mention of Sal'ros, but he shakes his head. "No Ven, I'm not looking to punish you, or get you in trouble with the Weyrleaders. I'm just asking you to try to keep a tighter rein on Imirath around the Weyrlings for another two months or so until they're a little steadier, a little more solid with their Weyrlings." His glass lifts again and he takes another big swallow. "Just think what might've happened if he'd been egging Zerith on about Between instead of plain old flight." He leaves that out there as something to think about then looks down into his glass again. "I didn't do that great of a job with your class. I barely knew what I was doing back then. How to handle Sal'ros." His eyes lift to the bronzerider's a shadow of guilt in them. "He ate up a lot of my time and took my focus off the rest of you."
V'delin listens to Paddy's words, really listens with his brows crinkled and his jaw set, imagining the effects, a few emotions playing over his face. "I wouldn't want that, for Zerith or any of them. Guess I didn't think like that, that he's not strengthening their bonds, but prying at them. Faranth knows it was a struggle for me - sometimes I still think Imirath has the upper hand and only pretends to go along with what I say." This admission comes quietly, one for one as P'draig speaks of his weyrling class, and Ven watches the liquid in his glass, then meets Paddy's eyes, surprised to see the guilt and trying to offer absolution. "That wasn't an easy task. For you or anyone." He shakes his head to clear the air. "And we turned out okay. I think."
V'delin listens to Paddy's words, really listens with his brows crinkled and his jaw set, imagining the effects, a few emotions playing over his face. "I wouldn't want that, for Zerith or any of them. Guess I didn't think like that, that he's not strengthening their bonds, but prying at them. Faranth knows it was a struggle for me - sometimes I still think Imirath has the upper hand and only pretends to go along with what I say." This admission comes quietly, one for one as P'draig speaks of his weyrling class, and Ven watches the liquid in his glass, then meets Paddy's eyes, surprised to see the guilt and trying to offer absolution. "That wasn't an easy task. For you or anyone." He shakes his head to clear the air. "And we turned out okay. I think."
P'draig nods a little as he catches that glint of catching on with the other rider. "Mm. A couple of them are having the same kind of struggle. Maybe not quite as -- extreme as what you had to go through with Imirath, but there's at least three very stubborn dragonets in this clutch. Z'enar and Falstath probably come closest to how you and Imirath were. Falstath's got a similar ah ... dark bent," Paddy puts the sentence together out of bits and bobs and nods at what V'delin's saying. "I guess that's what I mean though. About him having the upper hand like that. It's something we should've dealt with together when you were Weyrlings." There goes the last of Paddy's liquor and he scrubs a hand through his hair. "Most of you did, yeah." Beat. "But not him." There's a quiet note of resignation in the Weyrlingmaster's voice for the Weyrling that he 'failed' with.
V'delin's cheek twitches on one side, then a slow nod, even a little bit of a smirk at the word choice P'draig finally settles on to describe the other weyrling pair. "Not your fault. Can't control how people grow up, and Sal'ros was already bucking the reins even before he Impressed. Then he got in with Draila, and she wasn't quite alltogether then either." A roll of the eyes, deliberate. "You gave good advice when I was struggling, and I think Imirath and I work very well together as a team when we need to - he's observant, detail-oriented, and he encourages my independence, like not hopping a ride across the bowl just because I say I want one - so I don't see that as a problem, even if I complain about it." He takes another drink, wipes his hand across his mouth, "Just things like when he tells me only half the story. Any advice for that, even now?"
"Both of them were a little ... off," P'draig says slowly and he gets up, moves towards the shelves to take down the bottle of whiskey, refill his glass. "If you felt like it was good advice, then I don't think I can really ask for better than that," the Weyrlingmaster says with a grin over his shoulders and he returns to the chair with the bottle in hand. "Mm. It's what I've been trying to tell some of this batch. No matter how hard it is, you're good partners for each other." Paddy considers for a moment. "Getting the whole story from him? With Imirath? Probably need to be clever rather than persuasive, yeah?"
Ven is reminded of his own drink, and for once, hasn't managed to empty his glass before the Weyrlingmaster's done in his own. As a result, he doesn't hold up an empty for a refill, but instead takes another drink, one that even leaves whiskey behind in his glass. "Not to say there aren't days I'd rather do without, but for the most part, yeah. And he lets me pursue my interests, too, instead of nagging at me." Shrug, then a flash of a crafty expression. "How'd I go about that, exactly? Or you saying that'd be my own to figure out?"
The bottle gets set down on the edge of the desk as P'draig nurses the contents of the glass once more. Slowly the Weyrlingmaster smiles over at the bronzerider, a twinkle entering gray-blue eyes. "I'm saying you've gotta figure it out," he confirms. "It's part of why the two of you go so well together, isn't it?"
"Shards," Swears the bronzerider, a bit of his own bemusement shining up his smirk. "That's setting the bar awfully high." Not saying yes, not saying no, just talking tactics, after all. Finishing his drink, he sets the cup down on the desk, but makes no move for a refill, instead noting and appreciating by the tilt of his head the Weyrlingmaster's non-adversarial positioning in the chair next to his, rather than that on the opposite side of the desk, and giving the man a nod of appreciation, belatedly, for it. "Gotten more easy with the knot, over the turns, you have. Don't know how you do it. Probably never will." He rises, stretching his stiff shoulder, and adds, "I'll ask Imirath to include me or someone else in his communications with the weyrlings. Can't say he'll always do it, but could help to keep an ear in. You hear of more trouble with him, tell me so I can stop it escalating. Meanwhile, I'll keep him from the hunt when they're around."
Another sip of whiskey slides down P'draig's throat and he laughs at V'delin's response. "Saying you're not up for it?" he challenges the bronzerider with a wink. Ease with the knot draws his eyes down to said set of looped cords around his shoulder and he shrugs lightly, shifting the brown and black of Fort. "Ten turns is a long enough time to get used to just about anything," Paddy answers quietly. "It's become a big part of who I am. The Weyrlingmaster." There's a hint of wrynes in his expression and he sets his glass down as V'delin rises, offers his hand to the other man. "Thanks, Ven, I appreciate it."
"Saying it'll take me turns to figure out how to keep anything hidden from him." V'delin rolls his eyes, then tugs down his shirt, giving his own appearance a quick and somewhat disgusted once-over. "You sound...disenchanted. Thinking of forging a new identity?" The words are quieter, more friendly, as he clasps P'draig's hand.
P'draig closes his fingers firmly around V'delin's and holds briefly. "Working on it," the Weyrlingmaster answers with a loose grin for the other man. "And not so much disenchanted as realizing how much it's come to define me. I suppose that just ... happens when you step into something so young." His grasp loosens and he gestures for the bronzerider to precede him to the door. "I'll walk you out," he states, as friendly. "Should play cards again sometime soon too, now they're sleeping a bit more." A chin jerk towards the Barracks proper indicates the Weyrlings.
"Yeah." V'delin looks at the office, the turns of molding it's likely had on the brownrider, and his handclasp is even and strong before he drops the grip and turns toward the door, no further comment added there. "Should, at that. Spend some time away now and then. You feel up to cards, let me know. I'm near always game." He opens the door, steps out, tossing a 'thanks' over his shoulder before he heads off, steps much more jaunty than those that brought him here.
"Yeah," echoes P'draig and accompanies his guest to the door. "Will do," he says simply, one hand lifted in farewell as he watches V'delin go then leans in the doorframe to look out over the current crop of Weyrlings peacably.